Page 7 of Devil's Bride

“No! I will see my father.” Somehow, I was able to claw my way free, holding back tears as I slammed my hands against anyone who got in my way. When I managed to push my way back into the private room, I scanned every corner in search of him.

There was blood everywhere, bodies lying on the floor.

Then I saw my father.

“No, Genevieve. I need to get you to safety. The shooters could still be active.”

Active?

The fuckers had attacked my family!

I heard Emiliano’s voice and was cognizant several other hitmen were running toward us, trying to keep me safe, but I only had eyes for my father. He’d always seemed invincible, so strong and caring. He’d done his best to provide his family with a normal life even as danger crowded closer.

Maybe I should have never taken anything about him for granted. He’d had so many enemies, men of power who would do anything to take him away from me.

“Papa! Papa!”

My carefully crafted world suddenly didn’t exist. No matter how safe I’d believed it to be, everything had merely been an illusion. The future I’d thought bright had just come crashing down on me.

“Genevieve. We need to go. Now!” Emiliano tried to drag me away, but I shoved my hands against him.

“No! Find the monster. I want the bastard’s head brought to me on a silver platter.”

Tears sprang to my eyes as I dropped to the floor beside my father’s bloodied body. As I cradled his head in my arms, I threw my head back, allowing everyone in the restaurant to hear my pain.

“Te amo, Papá. Lo siento mucho. Dios es testigo de que vengaré tu muerte.”

Yes, I would avenge my father’s death if it was the last thing I did on this earth.

That was the moment I knew the young woman who’d seen the world with rose-colored glasses no longer existed. There would be no one who’d ever see me suffer or hear me cry again. No one.

For I was Genevieve Morales, daughter of the most powerful man in Europe.

CHAPTER 3

Jago

“Dump him on the mat,” I commanded as I stood off to the side, removing my shirt from the neck and tossing it aside. I’d come to the club to release some pent-up, hostile energy, furious a meeting that I’d thought would bring us some additional business had failed. But I wasn’t finished with my offer. Only next time it would be one the asshole wouldn’t be able to refuse.

Carlos obeyed instantly, tossing the fucker who’d betrayed me into the center of the thick mat.

“Ciento!” The yell came from several feet away, the crowd of men swarming the ring pumping their fists. They were hungry for blood.

So was I.

One hundred fucking lousy euros were bid. I snickered and climbed through the ropes, turning in a full circle so everyone inthe club could see I’d taken the stage. I rarely fought, but when I did, the stakes soared.

So did the bids.

“Cinco mil euros.”

Five thousand was more like it.

As I approached the already broken man, the bids only increased.

When I was standing over the son of a bitch, he managed to lift his head, gasping for air as a string of blood-soaked saliva oozed from his mouth. With one eye swollen already, he was having difficulty focusing. The traitor wouldn’t need to worry. His condition would rapidly change.

I grabbed him by the throat, easily lifting him into the air. As I held him aloft, another round of bids ensued.

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